Spells and Jinglebells

by ReGina Welling

  It was nearly dark but the Sister House wasn’t far off, down a small trail and across a field. She’d drag it in, set it up, and if she was feeling particularly charitable, she might even throw on a few decorations. Ruth Anne was sentimental at heart, and though she might joke about her aunt’s rustic holiday decor, she enjoyed the tradition of lifting each ornament out of its box and reliving memories of holidays past.

  Ruth Anne pulled the tree behind her, periodically letting go with one hand to blow warm air into her mittens. The crunching of snow beneath her boots and the rustling of the boughs as they brushed against other trees were the only sounds she heard in the quiet forest. Ruth Anne realized how alone she felt as the moon and the sun began trading places. She could see why her aunt was spooked about winter - the world was so quiet and slumbering.

  Click. Click. Click.

  Huh? What made that noise?

  Ruth Anne dropped the end of the fir and looked nervously about. Woodpeckers this late in the year? She held still, cocking her ear, and realized it wasn’t a clicking sound but rather a scraping noise. Like sharpened nails being scraped across wood.

  “Ruth Anne!” She jumped, looking around for the source of the voice. “Ruth Anne!” The voice called again. But the wind pulled the sound apart until she was uncertain of who had called her or where it had come from. She lifted the base of the tree and ran as fast as she could towards the edge of the woods as the shadows closed in around her.

  A flash of brown fur in the distance stopped her in her tracks, and she turned back the other way. Up ahead, she heard the clicking again, accompanied by the softest tinkling of bells. She looked up and down, trying to find the source, but the ringing seemed to come from all around her.

  Ruth Anne dropped the tree and forged a new path through the tight woods. Something dropped from a high bough behind her, and she had only a moment to look back and see that it was the Oak Crown before a gleaming horn poked out from behind a nearby tree.

  The Krampus was real, and he was with her!

  “Sorry, Auntie,” she said as she raced for the clearing. She would come back later, she promised herself, as the sound of bells followed her all the way out of the forest. She only hoped she could find the crown again.

  Chapter Seven

  When Ruth Anne’s scene faded, the globe went completely dark. No amount of tapping or blowing on it would stir it again.

  Was the crown still out there in the woods? The tree was set up, so Ruth Anne must have gone back for it. Yet there was no sign of the crown, so she had probably forgotten about it. Dora knew the forest well and could probably find it, if Krampus hadn’t taken it back to his lair already.

  The snow had now stopped falling, though it was still terribly cold and growing darker by the moment. But time was limited. In less than an hour the sun would set, and if she didn’t give the king his crown, winter might settle over the world for another full spin of the wheel.

  Dora bundled up and headed outside, armed with only her wand and trusty lantern. She sneezed periodically, hoping she wasn’t scaring Krampus further into the forest. But if she knew him, he’d stick around. Having the crown, he would want to stay close to see what kind of misery his mischief had caused.

  “Krampus!” she called out, cupping her hands as she shouted into the woods. She noticed that her hip hurt less with every resolute step, and even the cold didn’t seem to bother her. The only thing that mattered was that crown. “Krampus!” she called again. “I know yer out there and ya have the crown. Hand it o’er and I won’t have ta use my magick on ya. I’m rusty. Who knows what this old wand will do if I point it at ya!”

  The wind twisted around the trees, shaking loose pinecones and overlaying every other sound. Dora’s resolve began to break, as she searched in vain for the crown and found only snow. She eventually sat down on a stump and willed the tears away from her eyes as she issued her apology.

  “I’m sorry, Oak King. The Holly King won this time. I was a fool ta not watch the crown myself.” She reached into her never ending pockets and drew out an offering of mistletoe and dried fruit, laying them on the forest floor. Then she dried her eyes and went home. It was going to be a sad meal this night, and Dora wondered how she would explain the turn of events to her family.

  Click. Click. Click.

  Ring!

  Scratch!

  Dora heard the sounds behind her. They seemed to be coming from everywhere. Were there more monsters roaming the world tonight than she knew?

  Every instinct told her to run, but she drew her wand like a sword and turned to face the creatures. Sparks from her wand struck a nearby tree, severing a small branch. She was sorry for the tree, but the fate of spring was in her hands.

  “Krampus! I got ya now!” She said as her eyes searched the shadows, following the hoof prints that wove in and out of the trees. She lifted her wand, ready to strike again.

  The sound of crunching snow forced her attention to the right, and her lantern light caught a furry creature with large eyes and short pointed horns. She spun the lantern around and saw another horned creature in her peripheral vision.

  It took less than a moment for Dora to realize what had happened.

  She hadn’t found Krampus. She had found a small herd of young reindeer, with bells dangling about their necks. The escapees from the petting zoo!

  Dora laughed so hard in relief that she stumbled backwards against a tree. She felt spent, yet relieved.

  Dora reached into her deep pockets and produced two small apples, offering each to a deer, while the rest of the herd feasted on the mistletoe and dried fruit she had set out. She petted one, whose collar read: Stan.

  There was no sign of the crown, but there was no sign of Krampus either. Perhaps her sister was right. Maybe she clung too much to the old ways.

  She said goodbye to the deer and buttoned her coat. She wasn’t sure if winter would end. She would have to wait and see. But as she turned to make her way home, another figure emerged from the woods. This was a tall figure with broad shoulders, garbed in a red cloak and fur collar.

  Dora gulped as the form stepped from the shadows. Krampus might not be near, but someone was. “Holly King?” she asked as the form stepped forward. She had been so preoccupied with Krampus that she had forgotten that the Holly King had the greatest stake of in all of this - giving up his own crown.

  The figure pulled back its hood and Dora’s lantern illuminated the face beneath the hood. There was no laughing this time, only a wide smile as she registered recognition.

  “Sasha! What are ya doing’ here?” Dora asked.

  Sasha clicked her tongue. “You were so worked up this morning about the crown, I decided to keep an eye on it myself.” Sasha reached into her cloak pocket and removed a hand mirror, and showed it to Dora.

  “My crown!” she said of the image that appeared. “An’ it’s on its altar! But how? No one knows where the altar is located but me!”

  Sasha returned the mirror to her pocket and looped her arm through Dora’s. “I may not share your beliefs, Dora, but I respect them. I’ve known the location of the altar for years. In fact, I have a confession to make.”

  “Yes?” Dora asked as they tramped through the snow-covered field back to Harvest Home.

  “I’ve been the one taking the crown from the altar every year. It wasn’t the Oak King. It was me. I’m sorry.”

  Dora slumped against the front door for a moment. “I shoulda known! How could I have thought the fate o’ the wheel depended on me?”

  “We all have our parts to play, Dora. Your beliefs add to the magick of the season.”

  Dora opened the door and tramped inside, Sasha right behind her. The smells of ham and goose and candies and pies greeted them, and she shut the door to keep in the coziness. “Do ya think Krampus is a myth? An’ the Holly King, too?”

  Sasha removed her fur coat and hung it on the rack as she considered her sister’s question. “I’ve lived in Dark Root long eno
ugh to know that no magick should be discounted. I think that anything we truly believe in can be real.”

  “Alright then,” Dora said as she headed into the kitchen. She opened the oven and removed a pan of stuffing, setting it aside. The sound of her laughing nieces greeted her at the back door. They each smiled shyly as they went by, but not one of them volunteered information on their day.

  “Its time I let go o’ the old ways,” Dora said aloud. “The girls deserve more than silly superstition. I frightened them all.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” said Sasha. She patted Dora’s shoulder and left the kitchen.

  As Dora peeled potatoes, she thought she heard a distant laugh, and her eyes wandered out the kitchen window. She saw something in the woods, for just a moment.

  Was it another deer? Krampus? Or even the Holly King?

  Dora didn’t know.

  She could go out to the altar tomorrow and see if the crown had been taken, now that her sister had confessed, or she could just have faith that the wheel would turn on its own.

  “Auntie, look!” Merry said, coming in and grabbing her by the fingers. “The fairy is on the tree!”

  They stood around the tree, admiring it as a family, and Dora realized it didn’t matter if winter lasted the entire year. She was safe, and she was home and loved.

  Dora made her way back into the kitchen. “No more superstitious ways,” she promised herself. From now on, she was a modern witch with modern ideas.

  She stirred the mashed potatoes, then tossed a pinch of salt over each of her shoulders, just to seal the deal.

  The End

  To read more from April Aasheim, visit her at www.aprilaasheimwriter.com.

  About the Author

  April Aasheim lives in Portland, Oregon with her family and her familiar: Boots the Cat. When she isn’t writing she enjoys hiking, dance fitness, and ghost hunting.

  April is the author of the best-selling Daughters of Dark Root series. Her stories have been featured in many anthologies, including two that hit the USA Today Best Seller lists.

  Follow April Aasheim online:

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  Mistletoe, Magic, & Murder

  Suburban Witches Series

  Ruby Blaylock

  Summary

  Mischa, Ellie, and Poe are more than just best friends and neighbors—they also form a coven of witches living right in the middle of a sleepy suburban town in North Carolina. They make the perfect neighborhood watch and always have an eye on what’s going on in their town. So, when a blonde bombshell with a mysterious past moves in, they’re understandably curious. Especially when, hours later, another neighbor drops dead.

  Did their new neighbor murder their old one? Or did someone else want grumpy Edith Whitlow dead?

  It’s up to the witches to solve Edith’s murder, but with PTA meetings, full-time jobs, and two talking cats underfoot, can they catch the culprit in time for their annual Christmas party?

  Meet the witches of Country Acres Coven, Kensleigh Landing East, where the suburbs and the supernatural just happen to overlap.

  Chapter One

  “I think blondie bumped off the old hag,” Poe Landry muttered between bites of the muffin that her neighbor, Mischa, had brought over to her. It was apple, still warm, and completely delicious in that just-out-of-the-oven way.

  “We can’t jump to any conclusions,” Mischa scolded. She squeezed her peppermint mocha latte between her gloved hands, willing the warmth into them. “I’m sure she’s nice.”

  Poe thought that Mischa was far too generous with her trust. The new neighbor had moved in exactly thirty-six hours ago, and approximately twelve hours later, another woman on Country Lane Close had been found dead.

  No one on the quiet cul-de-sac street had liked the old woman. Even Mischa had a hard time finding anything redeemable in the old hag. Of course, Edith Whitlow, the woman in question, hadn’t been a witch like Poe, Mischa, or their other friend, Ellie, but the three witches rarely held that against anyone.

  Ellie, Mischa, and Poe were a coven of sorts. Somehow all of them had found their way to the Country Acres subdivision and had bought homes on the same street. As far as they knew, they were the only witches in the neighborhood, though they knew that they were far from the only magical beings in Kensleigh Landing East, the small North Carolina town that they lived in.

  Mischa was the only married witch in the group. The fact that she was married to a ‘normie,’ or non-magical being, didn’t escape them, but Mischa’s husband wasn’t phased by the fact that his wife was a witch or that his neighbor had talking cats. Mischa herself had almost forgotten that her husband couldn’t cast spells. The fact that they were a mixed-race couple usually caused more raised eyebrows than the fact that Joe couldn’t do magic.

  “She’s got a dog,” Ellie said neutrally. She shifted on her feet, trying to keep warm on the icy driveway of Poe’s house. The three women met most mornings for coffee and gossip. Mischa had her two kids to take to school and Ellie had to be at work early, but they tried to meet regularly, at least when there was something newsworthy to discuss. And the mysterious leggy blonde who’d just moved into number 618 was definitely newsworthy.

  “He’s weird,” intoned Raven, describing the dog. “He can’t even speak.”

  “That’s rich, coming from a talking cat,” replied Cleo, licking one icy paw thoughtfully and running it through her own whiskers.

  “Well, we can’t just stand out here all day,” huffed Ellie as she brushed her auburn hair away from her face. “As much as I hate to say it, I have to go to work.” She downed the last of her own coffee and patted Mischa on the arm. “Thanks for the muffin, Misch. Poe, stay sober.”

  The black-haired young woman in Doc Martens shrugged her shoulders. “Hey, it’s for medicinal purposes,” she called out as Ellie disappeared into her own house.

  “She just worries about you. We all do,” Mischa chirped. “Save the Schnapps for the Christmas party, okay?” She hugged her friend and nodded at the two talking cats, then sprinted down the sidewalk back to her own house.

  Poe cocked her head to one side and considered the house next to hers. She thought she could see the new girl moving around inside near the window. Poe took another swig of her spiked coffee and leaned forward slightly, trying to get a better view of the inside of the house through its cheap lace curtains.

  “A picture would last longer,” boomed a voice, frightening Poe enough to almost spill her drink.

  “Crap!” she muttered, trying to compose herself. Somehow the new neighbor had managed to appear behind Poe in the frozen driveway. And she did not look happy.

  “Look,” the blonde began, pushing her still-damp hair behind her ears. She was dressed in a business skirt suit and wore dangerously high heels for the icy conditions, but she stood tall and self-assured. “I’m not trying to be rude, but I can’t help but notice that you and your friends have been staring at my house for the last half hour.”

  Poe had regained her own composure. “So you were watching us for the last thirty minutes? Huh. And here I thought we were the only stalkers in the neighborhood.” She swigged her drink. “So how do you like the neighborhood?”

  Blondie crossed her arms. “Well, considering the fact that I’ve only been here a hot five minutes, I’d say I haven’t really had a chance to decide how I like it.” She considered Poe for a long moment, then offered her hand. “My name is Seneca Wolfram. I guess I’m your new neighbor.”

  Poe accepted the handshake cautiously. “Poe Landry. Nice to meet you.” Her words didn’t match her tone, which was unenthusiastic at best. Poe didn’t get excited too often, and she certainly wasn’t going to jump up and down just because the new, very suspicious neighbor happened to introduce herself.

  “Have you lived here long?” Seneca asked, rubbing her hands together to fight the winter chill. It was a balmy twenty-four degrees on the street, but the alc
ohol in her coffee had kept Poe toasty and warm, at least on the inside. Obviously, Seneca hadn’t partaken of such a useful beverage.

  “Three years,” Poe replied. “You from around here?” She batted the ball back to Seneca, keeping the conversation going longer than she’d planned.

  Poe rarely had conversations with people other than Mischa, Ellie, and their families. Heck, Poe didn’t even have conversations with her own family, at least not if she could help it.

  Seneca fidgeted with the sleeve of her shirt, which looked to Poe to be too thin to provide much warmth. “No, I moved here for work,” she replied. “And I’m afraid I’ll be late if I don’t leave soon. I just wanted to come over here and introduce myself so you and your friends could stop gawking at me through the window.” She glared at Poe, but Poe simply shrugged.

  “Sorry. For what it’s worth, we meet out here most mornings. You just happened to be the topic of the day because you’re new.” Poe drained the rest of her coffee and glanced around for her cats, but they were nowhere to be seen. “I guess I should let you get on with your day.” She turned without waiting for Seneca to reply and only looked back when she reached her front door. The blonde woman was nowhere to be seen.

  The two cats were waiting impatiently by the front door when Poe reached it. They huddled together, staring at their owner reproachfully.

  “She’s weird, too,” Raven moaned, pushing past Poe and rushing into the warmth of the house.

  Poe agreed with him. “She’s kind of snooty, isn’t she?”

  Cleo strolled past Poe with her head held high. “I’ll keep an eye on her,” she purred. “You just focus on ordering me some of those yummy treats from the online pet store,” she added. “I’ve been a very good girl and I think I really do deserve at least that much for it.” The cat collapsed into a heap of silky Siamese fur in front of the fireplace and began washing her paws.